Once Upon A Time
by infinite beauty
Summary: Rabi has always loved telling stories. Follows his life from childhood to old age, and the impact stories have had on him.


**Written for surelyyoujest on dgrayflashfic. I do not own D.Gray-Man.**

_Once upon a time there was a boy with red hair who loved to tell stories, and it was said that he could bring the characters to life if he desired…_

When the boy was younger, before his life changed, he would tell stories to anybody who would listen. Fantastic tales of princesses and demons, love and magic, everything a fairytale could possibly desire. He incorporated stories he heard from the old men in the marketplace, stories that came from across oceans and deserts. The boy was always happy to learn, to listen, and every time the story was told it got more and more elaborate. Women began to leave their small children with him as they did their shopping in the marketplace, and it was a common sight to see a crowd of wide-eyed children staring eagerly at the red-haired boy (not much older than them) as he told them tales of the fantastic. He became the marketplace's darling, and oftentimes shopkeepers would fight over who would get to set up shop next to the boy, as the storytelling increased business.

Then the Bookman came, and took the boy away. The red-haired child gave himself a name, Rabi, and no longer told stories to enthralled children in the streets. Now, he and the Bookman recorded history in darkened rooms, because some of the books were too delicate to see direct sunlight. It wasn't that Rabi _minded_ being the Bookman's apprentice, not at all. The stories of long-gone battles and accounts of defeated empires fascinated him, made him feel that this was truly the greatest job in the world, to record history as it was. Sometimes though, when the sun was shining and he was stuck in an awful, crowded room translating some ridiculously tiny, difficult text, he found his mind straying back to the marketplace and princesses. He would remember how the fruit-seller's wife would often sneak him an overripe mango as thanks for entertaining her children, and how the flower-girls used to laugh at his terrible facial expressions. So sometimes, after a particularly hot, trying day, he would lie in his bed and tell stories to the ceiling. The stories were richer now for the knowledge that he had, and often contained real histories, real people, and real princesses. The villain was most often a man he had read about, a man the books called 'The Earl of the Millennium.'

Just after Rabi's fifteenth birthday, the Bookman informed him that they were leaving for England. The trip was hard, but Rabi learned some sailor's myths that he had never heard before. Seals that shed their skin to become human and enormous monsters that could grab a ship and pull it down to the depths below. He learned some interesting new language as well, but the Bookman wouldn't let him repeat _that_ in polite company. At night, Rabi's dreams are filled with selkies and kraken, all sliding slipperily about with dragons and princesses, Roman generals and strange cannibalistic civilizations.

When he arrived, the Black Order was nothing like Rabi expected. It had the imposing look one might have expected of an organization dedicated to defending the world from evil, but its inhabitants were something else entirely. The insane leader hopelessly devoted to his beautiful sister; the long suffering second in command who kept the organization running when the leader was too exhausted or busy; the reclusive, angry beauty with a tragic secret. There was something about the Order that appealed to Rabi, and it wasn't just the uniforms. It was the people, the way their personalities fit so well into the stories that he now told to the Finder's children when he wasn't out on missions or recording. How easily Lenalee became the fair selkie princess, whose skin had been found by the darkly handsome and enigmatic prince, Kanda. Her overprotective brother would challenge the prince to a duel, and oh! The ending would change every time, but Rabi was so glad to be telling stories again.

Then the war was over, and Rabi didn't tell stories anymore. It wasn't that he didn't have any to tell. On the contrary, his memory was full of times that people had shed their skins, but it was to become monsters, not playful seals. He had met the Earl of the Millennium, and he knew that the man was not just some faceless villain in some fairytale, that he was real and frightening and absolutely merciless. Princess Lenalee had faded to a mere shadow, still lovely by all rights, but a sad sort of beauty compared to the shining, vivid beauty she had possessed before. Her reclusive Prince Kanda was no more, died in the line of duty before he could meet that one person he had desired to meet. Rabi absorbed himself in the recording of history, his duty as a Bookman. The distant horrors of the past were a welcome relief from the far too close horrors of the present. He no longer read about wars and thought of elegant ways to shape them into fanciful stories for children, no longer smiled fondly upon reading of child-princesses in their castles. He knew now that those had truly happened to real people, and that their stories were just as real. Just as his adventure would one day be recorded in the books by some Bookman, he was recording theirs, and they had probably never once thought of their adventures as 'amusing' or 'a lark.' It was respect from one soldier to another, to not change their stories unnecessarily, that was all there was to it.

The stories in his mind withered, growing weak and tired without any outlet. They began to slowly be replaced with facts and tiredness. As he grew older, he grew more and more reclusive, hardly venturing out except to buy food. Rabi remembered that the last Bookman, old Panda, had told him once that he had gone through a similar cycle; that the real reason that a Bookman needed an apprentice was to keep them sane.

A scuffling noise made him look up from his hunched position over a pile of books. A small girl had sneaked into the shop and appeared to be trying to leave with several large volumes snuck under her ratty jacket.

"What on Earth d'you think you're doing?" Rabi asked incredulously. The nerve of young people today!

The girl squeaked and stared at him, trembling. Her hair was tangled and her eyes were wide and scared. She mumbled something.

"What? I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that."

"Wanted some books. Thought you wouldn't miss a few." A pause, "Sorry."

"No, don't be. Tell me girl, what is your name?" Rabi asked, an interested look coming across his face. A young girl interested enough in books to steal some, and he needed an apprentice.

"Sarah, sir. M'sorry, please don't call the police, I'll give the books back, see." Hurriedly, she gave them back, but he put up a hand.

"No Sarah, keep them. Tell me, can you write?" She nodded her head hesitantly. "Excellent, now, how would you like to be an apprentice? You could read and write all day long."

"Oh, very much sir!"

As Sarah smiled and clutched the books tight to her body, a little seed of a story took root in his mind, and as he smiled back with warm remnants of his old smile and made her a cup of tea, he was startled to find that he was once again dreaming up fairytales.

_Once upon a time, there was a little girl called Sarah who loved to read so much that she possessed the ability to travel into the book itself…_

**I hope you enjoyed! Please review.**


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